


Solavellan Shorts

by BanrionCeallach



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8472145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanrionCeallach/pseuds/BanrionCeallach
Summary: Snippets of Solas and Lavellan.





	1. Blanket Sharing

**Author's Note:**

> Bedsharing

The first night that the Inquisition party camp near Sahrnia is cold enough that Solas wakes up with ice at the corner of his eyes. The second night is even colder than the first. So, on the third night, when Lavellan hesitantly suggests sharing blankets for warmth, he gratefully accepts.

It is a decision he comes to regret. 

Lavellan moves in her sleep. She twists and turns, managing to entwine the blankets entirely around herself with not even a strip spared for anyone else. Solas, his teeth noticeably chattering, shakes her gently awake and indicates to the blanket-hog that he would like to avail himself of some sort of covering before he loses extremities to frostbite.

Lavellan is extremely apologetic. She shakes out the blankets, making sure that Solas is as comfortable as possible before shutting her eyes and drifting off to sleep. Shortly after, now reasonably protected against frostbite, Solas himself returns to the Fade.

He is unceremoniously dragged out of it moments later when one of Lavellan’s flailing limbs hits him directly in the gut. 

Solas lies there gasping, the wind knocked out of him as his still-sleeping attacker proceeds to once again twist all the blankets completely around herself.

Once more, he shakes her awake (although not quite so gently) and once more Lavellan is deeply apologetic.

He manages five more minutes of sleep before she elbows him in the face and once again steals the blankets.

Enough is enough Solas decides, as he stems the blood flow from his bruised nose. He pulls the blushing, feebly-protesting Lavellan against him and, wrapping his arms around her, cocoons them both in the blankets. Lavellan holds herself awkwardly stiff for a few moments before she sighs and relaxes into his hold and Solas finally gets to appreciate the extra warmth as he returns once again to the Fade.

Ten minutes later, Lavellan headbutts him.


	2. First kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoops!

 

 

“C’mon!” Sera insisted, as they sat round the campfire after their meal. “First kiss. Who was it? Someone in your clan, right? Someone Dalish?”

 

Ellana said nothing. She just shook her head as her cheeks turned bright red, keeping her gaze resolutely on her empty plate.

 

“Not one of your elfy-elves?” Sera asked, her curiosity flaring. “Really? Who then? Some pretty boy from an alienage? Or a pretty girl? Please say pretty girl!” she finished hopefully.

 

“No,” Ellana mumbled. “Not from an alienage.”

 

Solas’s own curiosity was piqued now and he glanced towards the Inquisitor, wondering idly what kind of person was the first to attract her attention. Not from the Dalish, or a city elf? Not a human or dwarf, he is sure. Qunari? No.

 

He froze as a possibility occurred to him, the blood draining from his face. For an instant Ellana looked up and as her eyes met his he read confirmation in her embarrassed gaze.

 

_Oh._

 

He could not seem to marshal his thoughts. All he could think of was a moment in the Dreaming, Ellana’s body against his, her head tipped back as he leaned forward to press his mouth against hers. The soft sounds she had made as he kissed her, the way she had still trembled when he’d let go.

 

_Her first kiss._

 

_OH._

 

He had thought he’d felt a bit of cradle snatcher before. He was wrong. Now he felt like the dirtiest old man ever to have  existed. _Given the actual difference in your ages_ , a stray thought pointed out, _you probably are_.

 

Solas stood up, cited the need to be well-rested for the next day's travel and walked as calmly as he could to his tent. He was sure there had been situations where he'd felt a more pressing desire to flee as soon as possible, but at that moment none came to mind.

 

  
_Her first_ _kiss,_ he thought again as he lay back on his bedroll and shut his eyes.

 

_Oh no._


	3. Shy

Lavellan tossed and turned under her blankets, unable to sleep despite how exhausted she was from a day full of stress and physical exertion. She wished she could blame it on the strangeness of the luxurious human-style bed that had been provided for her quarters in Skyhold, but she knew that the bed wasn’t to blame for her restlessness.

 

She couldn’t get the incident in the Fade out of her mind.

 

Lavellan had never kissed anyone before, had never _wanted_ to kiss anyone before. For the longest time she’d thought she was like another hunter in her clan, Malien, who was very open about the fact that they were never going to be interested in anyone, ever, no matter how attractive the prospective suitor or how flattering the offer.

 

She’d been wrong.

 

She wanted to kiss Solas again. She wanted _him_ to kiss her again. In the Fade he’d been very, very enthusiastic about it. Well, right up until he hadn’t.

 

Inwardly, she cursed her rash actions following that surprising dream. She had flung herself out of bed the moment she’d woke and rushed down to the rotunda to -what? Confront Solas? Demand an explanation? Fling herself at him? In any case, she’d done none of those things. Solas had looked up as she’d entered, and as she met his gaze her brain had drawn a blank. She had managed to stammer out an apology for taking liberties, promised never to do it again and then fled. He’d barely had a chance to speak.

 

 _Creators_ , she groaned silently as she recalled her panicked, rambling apology. _He must think me a complete fool_.

 

Lavellan buried her face in her hands, half expecting her cheeks to physically burst into flames. She still didn’t know if he was interested in her at all.

 

 _How would I even phrase it?_ She wondered. _Hey Solas, I really enjoyed the last time you practically pounced on me and stuck your tongue in my mouth. Would you consider doing it again?_

 

She didn’t even want to imagine his response. Though she suspected awkwardness would probably feature heavily.

 

And now of course, thanks to Sera’s damn inquisitiveness and refusal to take a hint, he knew that she’d never kissed anyone else. At least, she was pretty sure that he’d guessed. Certainly he’d gone quite pale all of a sudden and gone off to his tent in a hurry.

 

Make that _horrified_ awkwardness then.


	4. Dance Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing?

Solas is aware that she is in the rotunda even before he enters. The anchor, the brand on her flesh made of his own magic, makes sure of that. He is also aware that she is meant to be attending etiquette lessons with Lady Montilyet and Madame De Fer.

 

Currently, she is hiding under the sacking cloth on top of his painting scaffold.

 

He coughs pointedly. “Inquisitor.”

 

There is a brief moment of silence and then the sacking rustles as Lavellan pokes her head out.

 

“I do not wish to criticise lethallin,” he says gently, “but hiding under sacking cloth to avoid etiquette lessons is somewhat beneath the dignity of the Herald of Andraste.”

 

Lavellan snorts. “I am _not_ the Herald of Andraste.”

 

“The dignity of the Inquisitor then,” he amends with a smile, pleased with her rejection of the status of would-be god.

 

“They are trying to teach me a waltz,” she explains mournfully. “It’s a type of dance.”

 

“Yes, I am aware.”

 

“I’m terrible at it,” Lavellan informs him bluntly. “I stepped on Josephine’s feet so much that she got a bruise. And Vivienne has to keep reminding me to stop trying to lead. Apparently ladies aren’t supposed to. And when I told Vivienne that I wasn’t a lady she sighed at me in that way, you know?”

 

“I do,” Solas admits ruefully. The First Enchanter has a particularly aggravating way of sighing at the apparently sad ignorance of anyone who shows a lack of patience for the rules of Orlais’ precious Game. “Perhaps she and Lady Montilyet are not best suited to teach you formal dance?” he suggests.

 

Lavellan grins down at him from her perch. “And you are?”

 

He knows by her tone that she is sure he cannot be. And why should she think otherwise, after all? An apostate from a small northern village should have even less knowledge of formal court dances than a Dalish hunter.

 

“Possibly,” Solas replies, watching her brows rise in surprise. “My learning in the Fade is not confined to historical or magical knowledge.”

 

“Are you serious?” Lavellan asks, a sparkle in her eyes. “You know how to waltz?”

 

“I do,” he says simply. He holds out his hand in invitation. “May I have the honour?”

 

She laughs and jumps down from the scaffold, then squawks when he catches her in his magic so that she floats gently to the floor.

 

“Solas!” she protests. “I was fine!”

 

Solas shakes his head slightly. He has lost count if the number of times various members of the Inquisition have begged the Inquisitor to stop risking a broken neck by leaping off of every height in view. Recently he has stopped wasting his breath.

 

He holds out his hand again and Lavellan places her own in it a little hesitantly. There is a blush on her cheeks and her gaze does not quite meet his eyes.

 

She has been shy of physical contact with him of late.

_Since she kissed you in the Dreaming_ , Solas’s wandering thoughts helpfully remind him. _A simple touch on the lips. And you responded by shoving your thigh between her legs and your tongue down her throat._

_Her first kiss._

 

He mentally shoves away the thought before he can start blushing himself, and focuses on the business at hand, guiding Lavellan to stand in the centre of the rotunda with him.

 

At first Lavellan does step on his feet quite a bit, but he resolutely ignores her embarrassed apologies. Instead he chats and jokes, drawing smiles and laughing retorts from her. Soon she is so unconsciously confident and light on her feet that he suspects it was Madame de Fer’s intimidating scrutiny that was at the root of her lack of grace in her previous waltz attempt.

 

They spin slowly around the rotunda, dancing without music. Lavellan light and bright in his arms, smiling with delight at her new skill. For a moment he almost fancies himself to be in another place, another time.

 

He is more disappointed than he expects when the moment ends.


End file.
